"Then why—?"

  I pointed up. Casteel's face peered down on us.

  "What the hell are you two doing?"

  "Can you help us out?" Peter asked.

  Looking at Peter, Casteel said, "And you, young man, your mother is going to tan your hide, but this one here—"

  Peter pointed to him. "I'll give you ten bucks."

  "I'll be right back." Casteel disappeared without a word, and Peter and I waited.

  Peter shrugged, "He's pretty easy to deal with."

  A puttering engine approached.

  Casteel reappeared. "Grab on to the rope. Can you pull yourself up? If not, I can pull you out."

  * * *

  Once we up out of the grave. "Hey, my car broke down again."

  "Sorry to hear," Casteel held out his hand to Peter.

  I watched Peter count out ten dollars, and I shook my head at the gall of the man.

  "I'm sure daddy Frank will pay for your car there, sport."

  Casteel got in his truck and left.

  "Do you think he'll tell Frank?" I asked.

  "Probably," said Peter as he moved toward his truck.

  "So why did you pay him?"

  He got in. "Well, probably telling Frank isn't the same as telling him."

  I got in.

  "Besides it wasn't even my money."

  I sat up. "Where did you get?"

  "Doesn't matter."

  "Peter, you steal, too?"

  He laughed. "Christian, relax. It's not like I killed someone."

  I put my head on the dash. ”Please, just stop talking."

  Peter stopped at my car so I could get the rest of my stuff. After he dropped me off, I went inside and undressed. Not even fooling with the buttons, I pulled my shirt over my head.

  As I worked on my belt buckle, a dog barked in the distance, answered by barks from across the street.

  A rattle came from upstairs.

  I froze awkwardly, with my spine curved and my pelvis thrust forward. With my face looking downward at my crotch, I could only shift my eyes to see the top of the stairs. I slowly straightened myself as I waited and listened. It could be a squirrel or another possum.

  From that angle, I could only clearly see the ceiling of the bathroom, but there was nothing there. Light shone in from the window, but there was no telling what was lurking in the deep shadows around the bathroom door and hallway.

  I tried to persuade myself that it was the pipes and returned to my belt.

  The floor groaned as something stepped across the upstairs hardwoods.

  Shivers shot down my back as the creaking footsteps continued. What the hell was it?

  Clenching my jaw, I decided there could be no more lying. I ran my shaking hands through my hair. I knew what it was.

  It's them.

  Get out of the house, I thought. Run.

  But I was a statue as I watched the staircase, waiting for one of them to appear, to present themselves, then roar down the stairs and attack me. The light outside faded quickly, as if a cloud had passed overhead.

  All the windows were closed, or at least I thought they were. I glanced at the living room window and stretched my neck to look into the dining room. Yes, all the shutters were closed. "How did it get in?"

  It became restless, and it began pacing, stomping up and down the hall.

  I wasn't sure if my heart was beating or if it was just going so fast I couldn't discern the beating. I felt dizzy.

  More dogs started barking. If I screamed for help, no one would hear me over all the noise.

  My glasses fogged.

  Get out! What are you doing? Get out!

  I whirled and grabbed the doorknob, then it stopped. Everything stopped. No sounds, no movement, but I knew it was still there.

  I released the doorknob and took a deep breath.

  Resting my head against the bloodwood, I whispered, "We want you to see us."

  I turned and took a step toward the stairs. Still no sound. I waited for movement. I waited. "Where are you?"

  A slew of sounds surrounded me.

  I ran upstairs.

  The noise sounded like it was coming from the bathroom, but when I got there, nothing. "Where are you?" I growled.

  I stood in the bathroom doorway. The moon illuminated the porcelain sink and tub. There were mall puddles of water on the floor. It was just a leak, my mind tried to tell me, but when I looked up to the ceiling, there were no water spots, no dripping. It wasn't the pipes.

  I studied the puddles. There between my feet was another puddle. I turned to the right, to the shadows of the hallway and there was another small pool. I followed them toward the bedrooms.

  I realized they weren't puddles at all, they were footprints.

  I flipped the hall light switch.

  Nothing happened.

  I flipped it again, and the light popped, exploding.

  My arms flew up to protect my eyes.

  The Tomb was less than ten feet away, but to my eyes, the hall appeared to stretch in length. It started spinning. I staggered to the right wall. My face was hot and my eyes burned.

  I backed into the bathroom and turned on the light. The beam of light swatted at the darkness but fell short. Still, some light was better than none at all.

  I crept along, following the footprints, through the threshold from light to darkness toward the Tomb.

  Once there, I reached in to turn on the light inside my room but jerked my hand back when I touched someone wet. I examined my hand. I rubbed my fingers together and sniffed. "Water."

  I peered into the room. The air was cold. I could see the faint highlight of the ruffles on the curtains against the wall.

  Again, my eyes strained. My blood pressure was spiking.

  There, in the darkest corner, a figure stood in the shadows, smaller than a man. If it weren't for his glistening hair, I wouldn't have seen him.

  I couldn't make out his face. Then his shoulders rotated. His head spun toward me, shedding the shadows and revealing the face of a small boy. The faint light revealed the boy's broken, unnatural, grayish-blue skin.

  "How did you get here?"

  The boy was silent.

  "You followed me home."

  He shot out of the corner, gargling with broken shrieks.

  He lifted me by the neck and soared, carrying me down the hall. I couldn't breathe. I grabbed at the wet hands clamped around my neck, but there was nothing but my own throat.

  I was pushed into the bathroom, and I fell through the shower curtain into the tub. I grabbed at the cloth, pulling the fabric off the rings down on top of me.

  My head struck the tile with a hard thud. My vision blurred. I could feel warmth pouring from the back of my head, but the rest of my body was cold.

  I fought to stand, but he pushed me down.

  The weight was released, and I finally took a breath.

  My eyes darted around the room, but he was gone.

  I reached up clumsily and grabbed the side of the tub. I winced. My stomach and ribs ached.

  "Help me get this..." an unseen voice whispered.

  "Wha?" I murmured. "What are you saying?"

  "Help me get this—" it hissed.

  I peered over the lip of the tub.

  Nothing. The room was clear.

  I laid back, my stomach aching.

  Again, I grabbed the edge of the tub and slowly pulled myself up.

  As I rose, pale, wet fingers reached up and touched mine. I gasped. A crown of wet, matted hair rose into view. A white, dead ear and then the milky silver eyes, sunken back in the head of a broken-faced little boy.

  The corpse leaped from below.

  His blue lips snarled.

  Isaac's hand was on my chest, and it clenched my skin, twisting my chest hair as he climbed on me.

  While one arm pinned me down, he used the other to turn on the faucet. Water spewed onto my face, impairing my vision, filling my mouth and nose.

  I struggled with all my strength to pull myself up. As I choked, I tried to speak, tried to communicate, but the small hand immobilized me and forced me back down to the bottom of the tub.

  I scrambled to escape the constant onslaught of water. Swinging my fists, I fought as hard as I could, but there was no connection, nothing to hit. My hands slammed into the tub and the shower tile, cutting open my skin with every useless swing.

  I was jerked up by my neck. I gasped for breath, inhaling what air I could. Then I was slammed back down into the shallow water. Isaac grabbed my hands, restraining me.

  The sound in my ears faded like someone had turned down the volume.

  63

  Monday, November 9, 1964

  Sunrise 7:05 am. Sunset 5:28 pm.

  * * *

  It was freezing. There was a stiff breeze. I must have left a window opened.

  I shot to a standing position. That was a big mistake. I caught a blurred glimpse of brown, pre-dawn nature and looming heaviness before I sank to my knees. I held the sides of my head to keep the vertigo-like pain from splitting me open. As the sharp, cold November winds lashed my bare skin, I wrapped my arms around my chest. I was shirtless and in only my slacks. My nose, ears, fingers, and toes were all numb.

  I tried to stay calm, but it wasn't working. "Why does this shit keep happening to me?" I pleaded to my hands as if they held the answer, but they were the only thing I could see clearly. I touched my hands to my eyes, but my glasses weren't there.

  In hopes my glasses were close by, I dipped down, spreading my fingers wide, scrabbling through the grass, leaves, and dirt. Nothing.

  I sat back on my ass and strained to study the foggy, grayish-blue terrain. There appeared to be a road cutting through a field in front of me, but behind me, trees and mountains. I wasn't sure if I was still in town. I turned to the left, and there was a dark-gray road leading up a purple mass that could have been any mountain of the Appalachians.

  There was a gate of some kind about forty feet away with a billboard sign beside it. I couldn't read it at that distance because it blended in with the gray surroundings. I got to my bare feet and walked toward it across the brown grass, then stumbled along sharp gravel rocks until my feet found the comfort of turf once again.

  The larger lettering made it easier to read: "Middwood Coal Mine." I wondered which mine I was at.

  At least I was in town, but even Peter's house was considered to be in Middwood. I shivered, I could be ten miles away from Main Street. I didn't know how I would explain this to Franklin. Even worse was the fear of having to explain to Bankward, then apologize again to the church for running home half naked before sunrise.

  The whistle!

  I could hear the mine's whistle at the school, and I could faintly hear it at the house. If I was at the mine, then I was closer to work than home.

  I spun and searched for some clue of the correct direction to start moving in. I hoped the heart of the town wasn't behind me over the mountain. I knew I could take the road to see where it would lead, but I was barefoot, and with all the broken bottles and trash along the roads I'd end of hurting myself.

  My feet.

  I plopped on the grass and pulled my feet up to my face. My toes were cold, but they weren't dirty. The bottoms of my foot and heel were clean, too. I was brought here. I tensed and scanned the horizon. Maybe the person or thing who kidnapped me was close by.

  It was useless. I couldn't see. I ran my hands down my arms.

  Instead of questioning why I had been taken from my house and dropped here, I pushed logic out of my head, and I closed my eyes. I'd always had a sense of when I was being watched. Whether I was high or just batshit crazy, it was all I had at the moment. I opened my mind, but there was nothing.

  I ran my hands over my knees and decided to take my sense of nothing as a good sign. I slowly stood. To the right there were trees. To my left, the field appeared to open up about half a mile into the valley.

  I went with my gut and went to the left. I walked gently back across the gravel to the grass. If I were caught out before the sun rose, I didn’t know what the town would do to me. I tried not to think about Shirley Jackson’s short story, “The Lottery”; getting hit with one rock was enough.

  With any luck, I’d make it home before the people of Middwood woke up. I sighed, “Too bad, you don’t believe in luck."

  The school wasn't in sight, but I was sure following the valley would get me close to it. I would have to climb, but, if I ran, I could make it home before the sunrise. I didn't think about it another second. I ran.

  The grass was soft beneath my bare feet. I watched the ground as much as I could to avoid rocks, holes, or anything else that could hurt me.

  I glanced up and my heart sank as I stumbled to a stop. There was an embankment blocking my path.

  * * *

  The incline ahead of me appeared to be mostly grass and dirt. It wasn’t part of the mountain, but perhaps a road.

  There wasn’t time for second-guessing. I scanned the ridge for the lowest point. It was damn steep, at least twenty feet. The bank was the same height for as far as I could see, but there was a group of trees to my right that I could use to help me scramble up.

  I ran to the trees and started the climb. I used a lot of energy, but, I was right, the trees made scaling the hill easier. I had to crawl to reach the top.

  I stood and dusted myself off.

  I had another choice: follow the road away from the mountain or go down the embankment and continue along the basin. The path curved, and trees obscured my view. I didn’t like that I couldn’t see enough to make a decision.

  I squinted down into the ravine. It gave the appearance of rolling hills that led up to a group of higher ridges. I couldn’t see the school of course, but it slanted downward.

  “The bottom of the valley.”

  That was the way, I knew it.

  Using the trees again, in the opposite manner, I ran down to the basin. My descent down the hill was my first breather for many of my muscles.

  The sky was warming. I needed to move faster.

  Once I reached the school, I’d still have to run to the bridge then cross over Looney Creek. I worried about Eddie. I wasn't sure if he'd be at the station with his shotgun. If I encountered Eddie I would more than likely see other people. Someone would see me, then everyone would know I had broken one of the rules.

  There was something boxy in the distance. It was around the midpoint between me and the next ridge.

  I didn't know what the little block-shaped thing was, but it felt right, so I continued running toward it. It was gray, like everything else in Middwood. It could be a tractor, an old wagon, but depending on the distance, it could also be a house. If anyone saw me, I could be shot on sight with the simple justification that they thought I was a bump in the night.

  The more I ran, the more distinct the shape grew. It had to be a structure. It was smaller than I thought, and it was closer too.

  The field started pitching up. I could see it now. Ahead, on a small swell, sat an old barn.

  I stopped, attempting to catch my breath.

  It was the barn, the one from Peter's story. If it was, then this was the most fucked up trick yet. Again, I knew better than to ask why. What was important, was that I knew where I was.

  I knew I should keep running, but there was an unnatural attraction to the building, almost like its gravity pulled me in. The pure history of the location, the spot where the curse of Middwood began. There was an eerie darkness surrounding the barn. I felt it, rippling. It was calling me, communicating. Was it real? Was I awake, I wondered.

  Early morning mist hugged the ground and hid my feet. With each step, cool mud spread through my toes. The waves from the building intensified, as if a hook in my chest pulled me forward. Its lure became stronger, almost seductive. More than anything, I wanted to get closer, see inside, touch the building.

  As I drew nearer, the dank scent of rot and earth grew. Its wood was older than me, ancient like a treasure found in an antique shop that had been closed up for decades. I couldn’t explain why I was still walking toward it.

  I raised my hand to the door. There was a surge; the energy made my fingers go rigid. My hand hovered, taking in the ecstasy until my knees weakened.

  My hand made contact.

  An intense, splitting pain sliced through my shoulders, as my body cramped. It was like my bones were being pulled out of my body through my hand. There was a transfer between it and me, and, with every second, I feared it was taking, feeding off of what little soul I had left.

  I opened my mouth to scream, but I couldn’t hear my own utterance. There were two other distinct voices. A man and a woman cried in dreadful torment. There was something else stirring in the shed, too. It awakened. It saw me. It was coming.

  I closed my mouth and the screams vibrated through my skull to the point that my teeth rattled.

  A guttural call came from somewhere. It cascaded down the mountains, surrounding me.

  The energy shift broke, and I dropped to the ground. I lay there shivering uncontrollably as my brain twitched.

  A second howl stretched over the valley.

  “It’s coming,” I whispered.

  The grass and leaves stirred. The movement registered in my mind, but I could only stare forward.

  “Home base. Home base,” high voices chanted.

  I stared into nothing.

  “Home base. Home base,” the voices repeated.

  “Home. Base,” I echoed.

  The grass and leaves swirled again.

  A palm slapped my forehead.

  I jerked with a start.

  “Where?” a man’s voice asked in the distance.

  I attempted to crane my neck, to scream for help, but the gust of wind ripped past me, pushing my head down to the ground.

  My body ached, and my arms were so sore, especially my shoulders. They felt like they did before I saw the—

  Something moved beside me. I looked behind me and stood up.

  Little devil winds of swirling dead leaves blew around my feet. I relaxed. It had just been the wind, and my shoulders were likely sore from fighting with Isaac, waking up at the mine, or whatever touching the shed had done to me.

 

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